


The Lost Boys

by darkavenger



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7180442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkavenger/pseuds/darkavenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Boss gets hungry. Johnny helps him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lost Boys

Johnny was playing with his knife again.

The Boss twitches. You’d really think Gat’d have learnt not to do that by now. Shit. Now’s really not the time. The Boss drags his eyes away. He’s in the middle of a gang meeting, and some of the newer recruits get a little squeamish watching him feed. His eyes linger on Carlos. Now there’s a cute little walking, talking juicebox, the Boss’d love to suck him dry -

“Boss?”

“Huh?” the Boss asks stupidly. He hopes there’s no drool on his chin.

Pierce huffs out an annoyed breath, “Man, could you at least pretend to listen to me when I talk? I was just going over the details of my plan, I said we could -”

“We know where their headquarters are right?” The Boss interrupts, already bored.

Pierce hesitates. “Well,” he hedges, “not their actual headquarters, but a place we know they frequent. I was thinking we could -”

“Raze it to the ground,” the Boss says, eyes still fixed on Johnny. He’s picking under his nails with the knife now, looking like he’s not paying any attention to what’s going on, but the Boss knows that’s not true. He watches Johnny’s lips curl into a smile at his plan.

“But -” Pierce splutters, gesticulating towards his maps, and flowcharts, and - is that a 3D model? Pierce really does get into this shit. “We can’t just -”

The Boss doesn’t say anything. Just looks.

“Fine!” Pierce says, flinging his hands up dramatically. “Raze it to the ground. Sure. Great plan.”

“Good,” the Boss says, blinking lazily. He feels a little sluggish. Blood sugar low, perhaps? He could certainly use a mid-morning snack. “Anyone else got anything to report? Shaundi? How the Sons of Samedi coming?”

She looks up from her phone, dreads sliding across her shoulders. “I’m working on it. I know a guy -”

“Good,” the Boss says again. “You can all leave.”

Pierce looks like he wants to protest, probably wants to go over spreadsheets or something, but he shuts his mouth, clearly recognising the Boss isn’t in the mood. Everyone else rises to leave, recruits looking relieved he didn’t suggest breaking for lunch.

“Johnny,” the Boss says, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of movement.

His second in command glances up.

“Stay behind,” the Boss instructs.

“Sure thing, Boss.”

They wait until the rooms clears, door clicking shut behind them.

“You want to hear what I got planned -” Johnny begins, but the Boss cuts him off.

“Hand me the knife.”

Johnny’s eyebrows lift a little in surprise at the Boss’s tone, dark and serious, but he hand the knife over obediently nonetheless. “You forget your’s or something?”

The Boss snorts, amused. “Maybe I just fancied playing with something… a little bigger.”

“Huh,” Johnny says. “You miss breakfast or something?” The Boss must look confused, because Johnny explains. “You always get flirty when you’re hungry. I figured it’s some weird vamp shit. Food and sex all tangled up.”

“Uh…” The Boss colours a little, sheepish. “I might have skipped breakfast.”

“Boss,” Johnny says, shaking his head and grinning, “haven’t you heard it’s the most important meal of the day?”

“Vamp,” the Boss reminds him, “I don’t do day.”

“Whatever,” Johnny says, grinning, teeth a flash of white. “You need me to donate?”

The Boss’s eyes widen. Technically, as a head of coven or gang, or whatever the fuck you want to call the Saints, he doesn’t need Johnny’s permission, but he’s not the type to demand that shit. There’s plenty of pedestrians or rival gang members he can feed off, after all. Still. If Johnny’s offering… “You sure you can spare it?”

“Eh,” Johnny shrugs flippantly, “spill enough of it anyway. Might as well make it useful.”

The Boss’s mouth floods with saliva at the thought of it, Johnny beaten and bleeding. While he’s distracted, Johnny moves in front of him, dragging his chair along behind him. He flips it round and straddles it, resting his arms on the back. Good idea, it’ll keep him supported while the Boss feeds. Not that the Boss intends to drain a member of his own gang to the point of passing out, but there are …other side effects to feeding. Plus, the Boss admits to himself, it makes a nice picture. Johnny with his head bowed before the Boss, neck exposed and tilted to the side for easy access.

“You gonna bite me today, Boss? I’m gonna get a crick in my neck,” Johnny complains.

The Boss snaps out of the leering. He’s hungry, can feel the prick of his fangs as they press against the inside of his lips. He licks his lips absently. “Pass me the knife.”

Johnny does, and the Boss feels a curl of satisfaction at the lack of hesitance. Johnny’s a good second in command.

“Not gonna bite me?”

“Disappointed?” the Boss teases, trailing the knife lightly over the curve of Johnny’s neck, tracing with the point of it down to his collarbone, too lightly to break skin.

“Just be careful with my tattoos,” Johnny says, flashing the Boss some of his own teeth.

The Boss laughs. “Sure thing,” he promises, before making a careful, shallow cut along the side of Johnny’s neck, then placing the knife aside.

A quiet hiss is all the noise Johnny made at cut, at the knife biting in, and the Boss watches as the blood beads, then begins to slowly trickle down Johnny’s neck. Stabs of hunger shoot through him, sharp and painful, and underneath the thick thrill of the bloodlust, clouding his thoughts. A low, choked noise rises in his throat, and the Boss leans, tongue flicking out to catch the blood before it can stain the neckline of Johnny’s vest. The blood is hot, fresh, and he chases it, up to the slowly bleeding cut.

Through the haze in his head, he hears Johnny’s breathing, a little ragged now, but from pain or pleasure the Boss doesn’t know. Reassuringly he tangles a hand in Johnny’s hair, though it’s not really long enough to get a grip on. Still, Johnny takes the hint when he tugs lightly, and tilts his head further aside. The Boss leans, and latches on, lapping at the wound, encouraging the blood to flow. The rasp of his tongue against the cut must sting, and Johnny’s breath hitches again, hands tightening into white knuckled fists on the chair arms. Soothingly, the Boss spares a moment to press his lips against Johnny’s neck, below the cut, on warm undamaged skin, before resuming to feed. He feels one of Johnny’s hand reach up, fasten tightly in his shirt. A few quiet moments pass, the Boss lost in the blood, warm and salty on his tongue, Johnny’s pulse beating through the skin. Finally, the hunger ebbs, leaving him sated, and after one last taste, the Boss pulls back, panting.

“You okay?” he asks Johnny, licking his lips, self-conscious of the blood on them.

“Me? I bleed more shaving my face,” Johnny quips, but his breathing’s still ragged, his shades not quite masking his expression. He looks wrecked.

The Boss swallows, another type of hunger stirring. “Right.”

“You, uh, you got a little something.” Johnny indicates to the left side of his mouth.

“Oh,” the Boss wipes the back of his hand over his face. “Messy eater.” His eyes flick back to Gat, involuntarily back to his still bleeding neck. “Oh, uh -” he leans forward, catching a drip before it can stain Johnny’s clothes.

“Don’t worry about it,” Johnny says, shrugging careless of the blood still creeping down. “I’ve got plenty of experience getting bloodstains out.”

“You do your own laundry?” The Boss feels his eyebrows rise.

“Don’t got no one to do it for me,” Johnny says, lightly. Neither of them mention Aisha.

Absently, the Boss brings his fingers to his lips, sucking them into his mouth to clean off the blood.

Johnny clears his throat, and shifts in the chair.

The Boss’s eyes snap to him, and he observes the discomfort, wonders at the cause. Johnny didn’t seem to have a problem with the Boss feeding from him, so why was he getting all squeamish now… Ah. Not discomfort.

The Boss feels a grin spread over his lips, smug and wide. He sucks his fingers deeper into his mouth, and really hams it up, moaning around them appreciatively.

“You alright there Boss or do I need to give you some privacy?” Johnny asks, tone sardonic.

“Nah,” the Boss removes the fingers, wet and slick with saliva, and smirks, “I’m good.”

“Good,” Johnny says, a little frustrations leaking into his voice. “Glad I could help.” He stands up, moving away from the chair, and the Boss can see his erection, straining against the fabric of his pants as he moves.

“Wait up,” the Boss moves, utilising his vampire speed to sneak round and push Johnny back down into the chair.

Johnny looks up at him again. From the set of his jaw, he’s a little pissed off, which is kind of hot, and the Boss doesn’t mind, plans to put Gat in a good mood. “You need something else?”

“Nah, thought I’d give something back,” the Boss says, then drops to his knees, spreading Johnny’s legs and sliding in between them. He takes the lack of resistance as a sign to go ahead, glancing up at Gat as he palms the bulge at his crotch, looking for confirmation this is what he wants to.

“You better keep your fucking teeth to yourself,” is all Johnny says, but it’s enough, and the Boss grins, deliberately baring his fangs, before pulling down Johnny’s zip and pulling his dick out of his pants.

“Huh,” the Boss blinks. “Eight inches.”

He hears Johnny laugh above him. “Told you.”

The Boss has always been ambitious, so he only hesitates a moment before leaning forward to take the tip of Johnny’s cock into his mouth. Johnny’s laughter cuts off into a gasp, and the Boss smirks around the head, before sliding his mouth forward a little more. The gasp turns into a groan, and the Boss feels Johnny’s hand settle on the back of his head, urging him a little further forward. In a generous mood, the Boss obliges, taking him in until his mouth is filled, lips stretched round the width. The Boss wraps a hand around the base of Johnny’s cock, squeezing lightly, using his free hand to balance against the floor, and begins to suck in earnest, cheeks hollowing. He looks up, watching as Johnny comes, head jerking back.

The Boss pulls off, swallowing with a faint grimace, and tucks Johnny’s cock back in his pants. “Ugh,” he says, rocking back on his heels and wiping a hand over his mouth again.

“Not exactly dessert, huh?” Johnny asks, voice still a little strained.

The Boss shrugs, smiles. “I’ve had worse.” He leans up, kisses Gat lightly on the lips. “Plus, I wanted to say thank you for the meal.”

“It ain’t dinner and a date, but close enough I guess,” Johnny says.

“I mean it though,” the Boss says, “thank you.”

Johnny shrugs, “Shit, man. If that’s how you say thanks, you can bite me anytime.”

The Boss kisses him again, a little harder, biting down on his lower lip until he can taste blood. Reluctantly, he pulls away. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”


End file.
